


A Game of Temptation

by ThePaintedScorpionDoll



Series: Scenes from a War-Forged Courtship [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aeron Tabris, Aeron/Alistair, F/M, Immersive Role Playing, Light Bondage, Mutual Masturbation, NSFW, Oral Sex, Tabristair - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePaintedScorpionDoll/pseuds/ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're doing it with the person you love, what's it hurt to try new things once in a while?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for [#sexlaughterhonesty week 2016 on Tumblr](http://thesecondsealwrites.tumblr.com/post/147209545389/masterlist-2016), inspired by both the "Let's Talk About Sex" and "Coitus Ridiculous" prompts.

Alistair strains against the rope holding his wrists in place behind him. It’s a fruitless venture—Maker knows he’s lost count of how often he’s done it—but he tries anyway, hoping that _this time_ will be different. _This time_ , the rope will be weaker, frayed at a fragile-enough point. _This time_ , the knot will simply come apart, evidence of being poorly tied all along. _This time_ —

Wicked laughter dressed in a woman’s voice sends a shiver up his spine. He turns his head, searching for its source within the candlelit room. He knows she is still here, that—even though he cannot currently see her—she has never left. Why would she? She is enjoying this way too much, his captor.

“Something amuse you?”

“Oh, yes,” she answers, somewhere off to his left. “You.”

They have been at this for what feels like several Ages—him and this Desire demon, playing this game of cat and trapped mouse—but Alistair has no intention of making this easy for her.

It seems, naturally, that the feeling is mutual.

“Your resolve thus far has been…impressive, my dear little templar.” He feels her warm, slender fingers slide along his bare shoulder and tries to ignore the flutter that starts in his chest. “I must commend you on your strength. It appears to go well beyond what you require to wield that sword and bear the weight of that _confining_ armor. The ones who’ve challenged me before you barely lasted minutes once I had them like this. You, on the other hand…”

Alistair shuts his eyes and tries to tune out her little moan of approval. _It does not feel good_ when her fingers slide up the nape of his neck to run through his hair. _It_ _does not_ send a flurry of sparks all the way down to his groin when she pulls his hair to bring his face up to hers. He cannot make himself deny the beauty of her face, but her eyes draw him in most, ringed as they are by gracefully curving tattoos. Is there somehow a trick in those tattoos that her eyes look so dark, or is it merely the light?

“You clearly have something the others lacked. I will find it—” She bends low enough that her lips hover above his. “—and I will enjoy taking it from you.”

“You—”

She kisses him hard, then. For a moment, thoughts evade him, washed away by the flood of new sensations. Alistair swears he tastes honeyed wine on her lips. The air around them is heavy with fragrance—something floral, familiar but still eluding him. Strange. From all he was taught of demons in the abbey, he expected—

“Mmf—!” Alistair’s bottom lip stings from the nip of the laughing demon’s teeth. “What—?”

“For all your time spent in prayer and serving as the Chantry’s loyal hound, you’ve quite the skill with kissing.” She moves behind him. “What else might your mouth be good at, I wonder.”

“You won’t win this,” Alistair tells his captor, putting as much resolve into his voice as he can. “I’ve the blessing of the Maker—”

“And what a blessing it is!” She drapes herself about his shoulders, embracing him as much with her long, white hair as she is with her deceptively strong arms. “The other templars were not so blessed. That must be why they didn’t fare as well! A pity, really. We could have all been such good friends. Wouldn’t you have liked that? Or do you prefer having me all to yourself?”

“I will have you before this is over, mark it.”

“Ooh! I am willing to play your servant, if that’s more to your whims. Shall I?” The demon presses a kiss to his shoulder, another at his throat near his pulse; she nips at his earlobe and revels in the gasp it gets from him. “What do you say, templar? Shall I get on my knees for you? Shall I show you what I can do with _my_ tongue instead?”

Alistair merely swallows as she laughs again, focused on trying to ignore the way her fingertips trace invisible designs along his bare thighs. He fights to stay calm and breathe normally, to show that _this has no effect—_

But he breathes and he realizes that she smells like roses in the springtime sun; freshly bloomed and so vibrantly _red_ one stops to wonder at what secret lies behind such a hue. Each line drawn kindles a flame that sinks into his blood. Each of her breaths sends a new little shiver down his back as it brushes past his ear.

Alistair shuts his eyes tight and balls his fists. _He does not enjoy this. This does not feel good._

But he breathes and she still smells so _wonderful_. How can a demon possibly smell this good? Demons are horrid creatures. Certainly, they all smell like sulfur or rot, don’t they? The books said as much, somewhere, surely! But she, with her brown skin and her scent like roses…the sweet taste of her lips…

“That’s it,” she moans into his ear. “Just enjoy this.”

“No!” He snaps alert. “No. I will not give in!”

The demon sighs. She presses her cheek to his. “Darling templar, why do you deny yourself?”

“I deny _you_ ,” he answers, voice tense. “I will not— _give you_ the satisfaction of—”

Alistair cuts himself off with a short gasp. His hands clench even tighter around themselves. A sound of approval hums past his ear, followed by more giggling as she gently strokes him.

“You speak too soon! I think we both might get plenty satisfied.”

“Uh-un— _hand_ me—!”

“Should I? Oh, I suppose—open—!” She puts her fingers to his lips, her other hand curled around his chin. “Open your mouth, templar. One should never worship such blessings without anointing them.”

And despite himself, despite the situation…Alistair finds himself trying to hold back a snicker.

He fails. Terribly. He bows his head to hide the buildup of quiet laughter and, again, fails to notice how the effort makes him shake.

His captor drops her hands to his shoulders. “What?”

“Ah-aha—” He shakes his head. “No—nothing—”

“What? What did I say? Alistair—” He feels her hand under his chin a moment before she gently tilts his head back. Aeron, his captor—the rose-scented Desire demon of his fantasies—looks down at him with confusion. “What in the world is so terribly funny?”

“Blessing,” he says between halting giggles. “Ano— _anointing_ the blessing? Honestly?”

Aeron frowns a little, releasing his chin but not untying him from the chair. Instead, she walks around him and sits across from him on the edge of the bed. Alistair draws in a breath at the sight. Her white hair barely covering her breasts, the rainbow of silk ribbons tied to either side of her smalls; she dusted gold powdered pigment along her cheekbones and around her eyes, on the roundest part of her shoulders and along the ridge of her collarbone. How she glimmers in the candlelight! How she _shines_!

“Are you still sure about this?” Aeron twirls one of the ribbons around her fingers. “I have no problem dressing up for you or doing…things like this—”

“Aeron, if I wasn't sure, I would never have dared to ask. Actually—” It only takes a bit of shifting to bring his wrists closer together; slipping free is easy then. “—you could have gone a bit tighter on the binds.”

Aeron shrugs. “Maybe I was just a little worried about what happened last time. I’d rather not have to cut so close to your skin again.”

“To be fair, I did probably panic more than I should have…” Alistair frowns a little. “But this isn't… This scenario, I mean—it—it doesn't make you uncomfortable? It is a bit, well…” He lifts a hand to the nape of his neck, trying to fight the oncoming blush. “Given the circumstances—”

“Alistair, look at me.” Aeron rises and gestures to the whole of herself. “This would not be happening if I was uncomfortable, regardless of how ‘blessed’ you are. You know that well enough.

“No, I like this—that this… That we can do this.” The ribbons at her side flutter with each step she takes. “I like that you’re finally telling me what you want and that we're trying it. It's like I told you; doing this for you is as much fun for me as when you're showing off what your tongue can do.”

Alistair drops his hand, having no difficulty at all recalling how much she enjoys _that_. “Th-that good?”

“Mm-hm.” Aeron smirks at him. “Besides, why would I pass up having you all to myself, right where I like?”

“I have noticed your, um—” He gives her a quick smile. “—your fondness for that.”

“And I _have_ learned more than a few more useful knots.” Aeron settles across his lap, resting her arms on his shoulders. “Would be a shame not to practice them.”

“Surely would.”

“Plus, if you’re able to escape _that_ easily…” A thoughtful hum vibrates against his lips as she kisses him. “I may have to make things a little more challenging. It simply won’t do, having you escape after going to all the trouble of catching you.”

“What if I promise not to escape?”

She laughs with that wicked tone that puts a shiver up his spine. “Silly little templar. Do I look newly crafted from the Fade?”

“I mean what I say.” Alistair slides his hands along her thighs. “Surely, we can make some deal. Demons can honor deals, can’t they?”

Aeron lets out a slow breath. “You’re not to be trusted. I know what your kind can do.”

“As I do of your kind—and yet, we’ve not destroyed each other. We’re evenly matched, you and I.” As he gets higher, his thumbs trace circles along her inner thighs. “I know you see it. There’s no reason this can’t end without both our needs met.”

“Oh no?”

“And you’ll find I can be quite, well…” He watches Aeron’s eyes flutter closed as his right hand moves higher still; a shiver runs over her skin as his thumb ducks beneath the fabric and gently strokes along the length of her outer lips. “I am known to be quite generous.”

She breathes a little sound of amusement. “Generosity is not—”

“Persuasive, then?” Up…down…up…but lightly; while his left hand reaches up and pulls her close enough for his mouth to leave appreciative kisses along her breasts, her gold-dusted collarbone, up along her warming throat. “I can be…fairly persuasive.”

“I’m sure—” Aeron lets out a small noise as his teeth graze over the spot where her pulse runs closest to her skin. “Shit, that—”

Alistair swallows the rest of her words with a hard kiss. He gives up the low growl of a moan as Aeron drags her fingers down his chest, and that’s the opportunity she seizes to brush her tongue against his. It makes the sudden moan she breathes into his mouth all the better, after he applies just enough pressure to begin spreading her open for him.

“ _Maker._ Wet already? And I’ve yet to present my best effort at persuasion.”

Aeron only moans and digs her fingers into Alistair’s upper thighs—a sensation that is not wholly uncomfortable. His gentle laughter mixes with the further moans she presses against his neck and shoulder between hot kisses, but he does not stop the gentle circling of his thumb around her clit. Instead, he applies just a _touch_ more pressure—a _touch more speed_ —

“F-fuck—!” She trembles and whimpers. Her hips shift against him, trying to catch the pattern. “ _Alistair_ , you _—_ ”

“That’s it,” Alistair tells her, grinning. “Just enjoy this.”

“That’s not fair!” Aeron lets out a shuddering, breathy laugh. “This—this about you—”

“I’m quite—”

He lets out a sudden, sharp gasp. The movement of his thumb stutters and stops. Aeron giggles against him, but she does not cease the gentle stroking of his hardening cock. (Determined as ever, isn’t she, his rose.) Alistair guides her gaze to meet his. It’s a trick of the candlelight that makes her eyes look so _dark_ , isn’t it? And yet…

“Copper for a king’s thoughts,” Aeron says finally.

“I—ah—I think…” Alistair lets out low, growling moan as her thumb brushes along the underside, near the tip. “I think I really like what you’re doing, and what—” He shuts his eyes and moans a little more loudly as she gently squeezes his shaft in steady pulses. “—wh-what you might do, if—”

“Good.” She kisses him before he can continue, before he can try to talk himself out of what they both know he wants. “Do you want me to?”

“I—” He nods, trying to remember how to say _yes_ and instead saying, “Please.”

And Aeron smiles at him then—sweetly, gently. Her kisses are just as sweet, just as gentle as she leaves them along his throat, down his chest… Alistair parts his legs without needing to be asked when she shifts to the floor. Little whimpers escape from the back of his throat with every kiss Aeron presses along his inner thighs. His breath shortens the closer Aeron gets.

“It’s like—” Alistair grips the sides of the chair. “Like little bursts of—of shock wh-when you—” He gasps when she takes him in hand and begins planting small kisses up the entire length. “H-have I ever—? It’s like…”

“Shh…” And she uses even _that_ to further him along. He grips tighter to the sides of the chair. “Just relax. Breathe.”

He tries. He certainly tries.

“Andraste’s tits, you look so good right now. We really should buy that mirror so you can see…” In the short silence, he manages to meet her gaze. “Are you still—?”

“Aeron, _yes. Please._ ”

Again with that little smile; more kisses, more gentle touches… Alistair starts to tremble as Aeron involves little strokes of her tongue. It’s as if every nerve has suddenly awakened and all they’re all sending the same message: _This is GOOD. This feels REALLY, REALLY GOOD._

And then Aeron takes him into her mouth—not all the way; not at first, no—and he barely recognizes himself in the noise he makes. It is a needy, desperately loud moan—the kind he’s much more accustomed to drawing from _her_.

_“Maker—”_

Aeron hums in amusement around him, and he can’t keep himself from whimpering even if his life depended on it in that very moment. She takes more of him into her mouth by degrees, the rest handled by the strokes and squeezes of her right hand. The cooler air of the room is a striking shock against the heat of her mouth each time she withdraws from him. He sinks as much into the chair as he can risk.

“Your mouth is so… _hngh_ —it’s—” He chuckles breathlessly. “It’s—hah—hot, but it’s not like…it’s-it’s-it’s—it’s so… _di—ifferent—Maker_ — _!_ ”

He nearly jumps out of his skin as something warm, wet, and soft undulates against the more sensitive underside of his cock. The realization arrives on a delay between bursts of pleasure, but it still sends him into a dizzying blush.

“That’s your… Heavens, that’s your _tongue_?” Alistair groans, loud and unabashed. “My love, you—” He catches hold of the free hand she slips up his chest and kisses her palm. “—oh, you are likely to kill me.”

Aeron merely moans a response as she draws her fingers back down, leaving tendrils of heat in their wake. This is better than merely good. This is amazing. This is—

This is just—

Is there even a word for how _wonderful_ this feels?

Does it _matter_?

Not in the moment. Not as long as Aeron doesn’t stop. As long as she keeps going, keeps this feeling _good_ or _great_ or _amazing_ or whatever word exists out there beyond all the ones he knows to describe this…this…

_Oh no—_

He feels the familiar sudden _lurch_ start near the bottom of his stomach and there is a shot of panic because _it’s too soon, it’s too soon, it is MUCH TOO SOON_ but _if she does not stop_ —

“Aeron—” Alistair’s voice is rough, heavy with lust. _“Aeron, w-wait—!”_

“Mm?”

Aeron draws herself back far enough to look up at him and he freezes. The sight of her on her knees; her long, white hair draped around her bare shoulders and her eyes raised to his questioningly while the head of his cock is still in her mouth…

Maker help him, it’s everything he has not to drag her to bed so they might better finish what they’ve started.

A sudden burst of cooler air shocks Alistair back to his senses. He shivers. He blinks. He remembers how to breathe properly. He notices Aeron is much closer to him; still on her knees, but no longer sitting on her heels.

“Alistair,” she says gently, one hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

“I—” He nods slowly. Her touch still leaves him warm. “Yes, I just—”

“What happened? Was I—? I didn’t…” A look of serious concern crosses her face. She raises a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t catch you with my _teeth_ , did I?”

“No! No, that wasn’t why—”

“I made sure not to—”

Alistair cradles Aeron’s face between his hands and kisses her. “No, my love. If anything, you were—” He laughs a little. “—too good.”

Aeron blinks at him. “Too good?”

As he kisses her again, he gives a small moan of confirmation. “So very, very good. I almost—” Another kiss. “I’m very sure I would have, in fact—”

“And you _stopped me_? Alistair—!”

“I didn’t want t—i-it was too soon!” he protests. “I wasn’t… And it would have been without warning and I didn’t want to take the chance you might…y-you know…”

There is a measure of silence as the unspoken scenario plays in their minds. Aeron breaks the silence first.

“I could do worse for last meals.”

At first, Alistair can only look at her, eyes wide. Then the humor of it hits them hard, the absurdity of the scenario too much for either of them. Before he realizes it, they are both laughing harder than he can remember since before Ostagar. Aeron resumes sitting on her heels to avoid falling over.

“Can—can you imagine it? Having to explain what happened?” he asks between peals of laughter. “Wynne would be s-so—so disappointed—”

“ _Wynne?_ No—no, imagine _Zevran_ ,” she answers. “If anyone—I mean, all that advice—oh, fuck, or _Oghren_ —”

“Before or _after_ he gets completely drunk?”

“Is there a difference?”

“No, I suppose not.” In the breathless aftermath, Alistair looks her over. “Maker, you’re beautiful. With or without all those ribbons, that makeup… I really am a lucky man.”

“I am glad to see you haven’t forgotten. Then again—” Aeron rises. The ribbons flutter and shimmer in the candlelight as her smallclothes fall to the floor. “—maybe you could do with remembering just how lucky.”

Alistair gives her a grin as she settles in his lap again. “You know, I certainly think I could. In fact—”

Aeron lets out a small squeal of surprise, pulling herself tight against him as he rises with her legs hooked around his waist and securely supported in his arms. “Alistair, you—!” She laughs nervously as he carries her to bed. “What have I told you about _doing_ this—?”

They land somewhat heavily, the bedframe creaking mildly in protest. Alistair is still plenty amused as he better positions himself between her legs.

“Rude, is all I’ll say,” Aeron tells him, not even bothering to sound annoyed as she pulls him down to kiss. “Very, very rude.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he tells her. “I swear I will.”

“You’d _bett—!_ ” They both share a shuddering breath as he slips into her. Aeron exhales in a deep sigh. “That’s a good start.”

“I’m glad.”

They trade smiles, and Alistair takes a moment to look at her again. Maker, but she is beautiful. With her hair fanning out beneath her and what remains of the gold dust on her skin… This, her, their being together; this is the real blessing. And he knows just how much of a blessing it is, doesn’t he?

Of course, he does.


End file.
